


Walking Nightmare

by jusrecht



Category: Code Geass
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-08
Updated: 2008-02-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping from one and falling into another; pitfalls, they are called.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Nightmare

  


It was painful.  
  
  
  
Suzaku couldn’t hold back the strangled moan leaving his parted lips as the first wave of orgasm tore through his body. He continued to slam himself down, loving every bit of pain and fighting against every impulse to sink into that rapidly overwhelming pleasure. The latter became increasingly difficult with each gasped breath and he lost every shred of control when strong fingers moved to his hips and held them tightly. His entire body shuddered, ecstasy and agony blending into one excruciating combination as wet heat burst inside him.  
  
  
  
He screamed. He knew he screamed.  
  
  
  
Because he was seeing those violet eyes behind his lids again. Because no matter how far he tried to run, he couldn’t escape them or his own dark, dirty desires for things that should never be. He felt the desperate laughter bubbling at the back of his throat. It was stupid trying to run from them in the first place. They were a part of him – a very integral part, deep-seated, irremovable – and they would haunt him forever till the end of eternity and beyond.  
  
  
  
Suzaku blinked and felt the tears in his eyes as he slowly resurfaced from the hazy depth of orgasm, his own personal hell of guilt and disgust, only to find himself in another hell, staring at him in the eye, riddled with the unknowns and uncertain. He dimly realized that his arms were planted firmly on the bed, keeping the rest of his upper body from slumping on top of the person lying beneath him. The gaze he received in return was half-lidded and heavy with insinuations, unvoiced allusions to his inability to fight back. The hands remained a foreign weight on his hips, the skin under his thighs warm and damp with sweat. No matter how many times the occasion had repeated itself, he never got used to these little details.  
  
  
  
One hand shifted, slowly, the fingers tracing an imaginary line from his hips up to the curve of his buttock, ghosting over where they were still firmly joined together before making a sharp turn to his spine. They remained there, filling him with a mishmash of dread and anticipation as he waited, not daring to move. Moments dragged on, and then the other hand stirred. A thumb descended the inside of his thigh, movement a lazy caress that made his skin tingle and flickers of black fire rekindle somewhere inside him. It stopped midway only to retrace the path back to the juncture of his thigh, and Suzaku bit his lips from the sensations as the action was repeated again and again, every stroke burning yet another bundle of restraint to ashes.  
  
  
  
He didn’t want it like this. He wanted it to hurt, to push him to that limit where he couldn't take it anymore. And then maybe he could forget.  
  
  
  
It wasn’t often, if not hardly ever, for his wish to be promptly granted that this one happening took him entirely by surprise. Using his weight, the prince turned them over and a sharp gasp was ripped from Suzaku’s throat as the result of the sudden movement. The pain was tremendous, and yet exquisite in a completely fucked-up way that he drank every drop with something close to desperation until he could feel it hum in his blood. His fingers dug into the other man’s shoulders, air leaving his lungs in heavy, ragged breaths when the prince drew him closer, lips kissing the column of his neck. Every touch pierced him like thousands of rusted needles, making him feel a little better, a little more alive, a little more forgiven in the onslaught of misery.  
  
  
  
And then maybe he could forget.  
  
  
  
“If you hadn’t been so rough with yourself, it would have hurt less,” Schneizel told him, a slightly admonishing note in his voice.  
  
  
  
It would have, a distant corner of his mind reflected dully, but to make it hurt less had never been the point. Allowing the prince to fuck him because he was having certain dreams about said prince’s brother in the most wrong, inappropriate, disgusting manner wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable. It was supposed to be painful. It was a punishment. _He_ was the person who killed Euphie.  
  
  
  
But no matter what he did, the dreams just kept coming. He would always return to this place, this small fragment of nightmare with its heavy smell of sex dangling between slits of cool air and a pair of dark eyes that looked just a little too much like someone he knew long, long time ago.  
  
  
  
“Does Your Highness find it unsatisfactory?” he heard himself asking, with a hint of sarcasm, a hint of indifference, a hint of so many things at once that it was impossible to tell what he felt anymore.  
  
  
  
“I find it disconcerting that you are bleeding,” the prince said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. Suzaku looked at him, but the older man had already risen from the bed and started to dress, manner perfectly unaffected despite the comment he had just made. He bit back the acerbic reply he felt coming and forced himself to derive pleasure from the helplessness, difficult though it might be. And then it was the endless circle again – a little more alive, a little more forgiven. It almost felt natural. He barely heard the clink of glass, or the sound of hundreds-year-old wine being poured out of its equally timeworn container, a quiet ripple in the deepening night.   
  
  
  
“And that you were whispering my supposedly dead brother’s name.”  
  
  
  
Suzaku froze. Whatever he felt coming, it was definitely not this. He looked up, hands clenching tight on the sheet, and found the prince looking back at him, legs gracefully crossed, a wineglass suspended half-full between long fingers, the personification of aristocracy at its most elegant. Or its most arrogant, Suzaku couldn’t really tell anymore. It was humiliating enough that he was having these thoughts about the very person he had sworn to kill. And now someone else had to know – the same someone he had been taking advantage of.  
  
  
  
“Where is he?” The question was spoken gently, as if trying to coax a stubborn child into giving away his most treasured possession. He swallowed. It was much too easy. The answer was there on the tip of his tongue, but his stubbornness, his pathetic excuse of a pride rebelled. And then there was the greed, the ugly greed that screamed at him that Lelouch was his and his alone and he was the one who would put an end to that twisted existence, even if it cost him more than the rest of his life could pay.  
  
  
  
“I don’t know,” he finally answered. A sprinkle of truth. A sprinkle of lies. Never gave it all.  
  
  
  
It was habit by now.  
  
  
  
Schneizel’s lips curved into a little smile and Suzaku couldn’t help but think that he had never seen anything so cold.  
  
  
  
“Then you may leave.”  
  
  
  
It was an order.  
  
  
  
 **End**  


  



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